


The Prince and His Stable Hand

by fhartz91



Category: Glee
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Dom/sub, Drama, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-21 05:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: Blaine is a prince, betrothed to wed the Princess Rachel Berry, but he has secret desires that his new wife will never be able to fulfill.But the handsome young man who tends his father's stables definitely can.





	1. The Prince's Stable Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-write. I have set it in the vague 1800s, with no real indication of a locale.

Blaine stood dutifully in the courtyard and watched Princess Berry’s carriage pull away. The four white stallions at the lead trotted down the winding stone drive, the clacking of their hooves bombarding the still, night air with their rhythmic cadence. A dainty, white-gloved hand waved from within the darkened window, a lace handkerchief clutched between pinched fingers, its owner shrouded by shadows. Blaine didn’t need to see her to visualize her auburn hair spilling down her shoulders, her lightly sun-kissed skin, her deep brown eyes, her baby pink bodice laced so tightly around her petite frame that Blaine feared she might actually have suffered a broken rib or two.

He raised his gloved hand and waved back, the smile plastered on his face growing less and less sincere as the carriage drove farther away toward the black iron gates that surrounded the grounds. Before the carriage reached them, Princess Berry released the handkerchief, leaving it behind as a token for her betrothed. The lacey fabric billowed in the air, floating freely in the wake of the carriage as the team gained speed and bustled away.  The evening breeze caught the handkerchief, swirled it through the air, and then settled it on the lawn. Prince Blaine stared at the thing, a white stain on the lush green grass, his lip curled in disgust.

“Would you like me to fetch that for you, Your Highness?” Sebastian, the captain of the prince’s guard, asked with a smirk.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Blaine muttered, turning angrily from the moonlit scene and storming away.

“Where are you going, _Your Highness_?” Sebastian called after him, a thinly veiled taunt in his voice. The day spent guarding the awkward couple had been dreadfully dull and long for Sebastian, but it was worth it to watch the prince forced to play nice for that vain and shallow fiancée of his. “What should I tell the king if he asks for you?”

Blaine yanked off his gloves and chucked them one by one over his shoulder.

“If he ever removes his dick from the downstairs maid, you can tell him I’ll see him in hell!” Blaine snapped without slowing his stride.

Sebastian shook his head, watching noble Prince Blaine stomp away like a spoiled child. Sebastian knew he was pushing his luck teasing the prince the way he did, but he possessed more luck than most to push. He and Blaine had been friends since birth. Both nursed by Sebastian’s own mother, they were nearly brothers. Sebastian knew Blaine better than anyone in the kingdom, definitely better than the prince’s parents, which was why, despite all his taunting, his heart broke for Blaine. He saw the prince’s footsteps falter on the cobblestones as he made his way with a purpose toward the stables, and knew the man was holding back sobs … or screams.

Or both.

Sometimes the worst curse in the world could be the circumstances of birth, for rich and poor alike.

Blaine didn’t choose who he was or the way he loved, but the fact of the matter was that Blaine was born a prince. He had duties and responsibilities. He needed to be a role model - a shining example to his kingdom. Those responsibilities included marrying well … and producing an heir.

Sebastian turned to the rest of the complement watching their prince with interest, the scene most assuredly feeding rumors that would circulate like wildfire later in the drunken revelry of the evening. One or two guards even wore the shadows of grins on their faces. Sebastian scowled, and their grins beat a hasty retreat.

“None of you know where the prince is headed, do you?” Sebastian bellowed to the guards. When no one answered, Sebastian repeated loudly, “ _Do you_!?”

“No, sir,” they answered in unison.

“Good,” Sebastian said, knowing in his heart that keeping them quiet through fear only worked for so long. “Keep your mouths shut and you might not be working in the kitchens come morning.”

***

Blaine concentrated on the click of his footsteps on the stones to scrub his mind clean of Rachel Berry - his _intended_ \- and her inane chatter. She talked all day long about everything and nothing, rarely giving Blaine’s ears a rest.

“Oh, Your Highness!” she blathered over breakfast. “What an amazing pianoforte you have in the palace! I’m sure I’ll never tire of playing while I’m here. It’s my one true passion!”

“Did I tell you, Prince Blaine?” she jabbered during their walk in the garden after lunch. “I have the most marvelous design for a tabletop that I would love to paint for my sitting room!”

“Does the prince enjoy theater?” she chittered as they took a carriage ride over the grounds. “Oh, I do love the theater. The costumes, the singing - especially the love stories …”

She sat close by his side and put a bold hand on his knee. Then she proceeded to sing from her favorite score. She sang and she quipped and she barely drew a breath. So many times he wished he could scream, ‘ _Do shut the fuck up_!’ Blaine wasn’t ashamed of his indifference toward the girl. He had no intention of leading her on. He was sure that he had made it quite clear on several occasions that this ‘marriage’ was one of no consequence to him. He wasn’t marrying for love.

He had his suspicions that neither was she, she was simply better at masking her displeasure. She might hold some disdain for him, but she stood to benefit a great deal better by their marriage than he, so she had more reason to act cordial. His father could back out of this arrangement at any time.

He _could_ , but Blaine knew he _wouldn’t_.

The _bastard_.

Blaine made his way to the stables, pleased to see the windows glowing with lamplight from within, so much warmer and more inviting than a single room in the whole of his palace. He had already undone the buttons to his coat, tearing a few in his haste to be rid of the damned thing. This one in particular fit too tightly around his chest and restricted his breathing, but he was allowed to wear no other - another cage that being royal kept him confined in.

He burst through the door, sighing in relief at the sight of Kurt, pitchfork in hand, laying fresh hay for the horses in their stalls. Through his loose-fitting linen shirt, Blaine could see the muscles in Kurt’s arms shift and stretch, bulging beneath flawless, pale skin. Blaine admired how Kurt kept his skin perfect despite the labor he performed every day. Though Blaine would rather see him stationed in the palace, sleeping on a bed of feathers instead of a humble mattress of hay, covered in satins and silks, and bathed perfumes, within a stone’s throw of the prince’s own bedroom.

But then they might not be able to do what Blaine had come here for.

“Why does it always reek of horse shit in here?” Blaine asked to announce his presence.

“Because this is a stable, Your Highness. It’s full of horses and their shit.”

Kurt did not turn from his work, but spied the prince loosening the collar of his shirt from the corner of his eye, and nibbled his lower lip in secret. But from Blaine’s perspective, Kurt continued on as if he weren’t there, effectively ignoring the prince and his mounting frustrations.

“Well, do you think you could cease shoveling and spare a moment for _me_?”

“A moment with you will turn into the entire evening, sire.” Kurt chuckled. “Let me get these poor animals fed so I can take my time with you.”

Blaine pushed past Kurt and headed for the rear of the stable, straight to Kurt’s quarters.

“Eager tonight, aren’t we?” Kurt prodded. “But that will not hurry me along, I’m afraid.” He heard the prince curse underneath his breath and chuckled. He had no desire to incur the prince’s ire, but he liked taking advantage of the fact that here, in this stable, where he had total control, he had permission to treat his prince so familiar. Besides, he caught a glimpse of the prince’s ‘playdate’ with the Princess Berry. Kurt knew very well the prince’s pain.

He carried it as well.

Kurt gave the broodmare in the stall an extra helping of oats and patted her on the back. She would foal soon, and it made Kurt’s chest tighten with bittersweet hopes and dreams, each one fracturing a bit every day that the prince’s wedding drew near. Horses had such simple lives. They lived in the stables and galloped in the yards, their every need provided for. They ran where their wills took them, and they fucked where they pleased. In the stable of the king, the horses were neither traded nor sold, and his favorites, cared for by Kurt, never went to war. How wonderful it would be to live out his life as a horse, Kurt thought.

Then he rolled his eyes at his own foolishness.

He followed the prince to his room and saw him struggling with his clothes. He managed to tear off the coat and toss it on Kurt’s bed, but the shirt, along with the corset underneath, was giving him some trouble.

“Could we just get this started?” Blaine growled, nearly ripping off the uncooperative garments. Kurt caught the shirt when it finally slipped from Blaine’s shoulders and hung it along with the coat on a dull hook in the corner. Then he helped Blaine remove the corset. He loosened one lace at a time slowly so that Blaine’s lungs didn’t fill too quickly and cause him to pass out. Kurt could appreciate a sturdy corset, but not like this one, worn solely for looks. But this wasn’t vanity. In the case of the prince, Blaine’s father forced it on him to keep him from slouching in the presence of the princess - so he didn’t show with his body the resentment he felt.

Blaine far from needed a corset. His shoulders broad, his waist trim, his arms muscular, he cut a handsome figure in a properly fitted coat. Kurt could see that figure now, emerging from underneath cotton and bone. And though Kurt didn’t approve of the corset, the marks it left behind, running vertically on Blaine’s olive skin, made him hotter than a brick oven cooking in the middle of July.

Kurt removed the corset completely, and Blaine stood before him shirtless, back turned, chest heaving in anticipation. Kurt took a moment to appreciate the body of the man who’d started coming to him more and more recently in need of release … and sometimes, in need of comfort. Kurt rounded on Blaine and stood before him, stripped off his own shirt and tossed it aside, allowing the prince time to lay eyes on his body. He wore only his leather work pants, the material clinging like a second skin to his thighs. Kurt let Blaine’s eyes wander where they pleased, let him gawk openly, but once Kurt saw the bulge in the front of Blaine’s pants grow with interest, he knew Blaine had seen enough. Kurt pointed sharply to the ground, and seeing the signal from his Dom, Blaine lowered his eyes to the floor.

“Arms out,” Kurt commanded, no more need for ceremony or fancy titles now that Blaine had silently shown his willingness to submit.

Blaine raised his arms and grabbed the posts at either side of him, keeping his eyes downcast while his Dom worked. Kurt bound Blaine’s wrists to the wood, wrapping them with leather straps and pulling the ends tight. The prince sighed when the leather bit into his skin.

“You like that?” Kurt ran a hand up Blaine’s spine, rubbing his shoulders and pushing down on his bowed neck. “Of course, you do. You _always_ do.”

Without permission to speak, Blaine stood obediently and listened.

In the confines of Kurt’s quarters, his sub didn’t always have permission to speak.

He had permission to scream, but that could be taken away.

Kurt stole a moment to clean up, washing the filth from his body with water from a basin beside his bed. He grimaced when the water turned brown with dust, as did the cloth he wiped down with. He wished he could wash himself a bit more thoroughly, but that would require drawing a bath.

They didn’t have that kind of time.

He opened a chest on the floor and pulled out a braided whip, along with a pair of leather gloves, both gifts from the prince after the first time Blaine wandered down to the stables in search of Kurt’s services. At the time, Blaine barely knew himself, barely understood where his strange urges came from. He had noticed Kurt before. Of course he had. Who but the blind could not? He was fair and strong, but kept mostly to himself. God, he seemed so quiet, so innocent to Blaine’s eyes.

After watching Kurt spend the afternoon breaking a new pair of stallions – a gift from the Belgium ambassador – Blaine simply knew.

He knew what he needed, and that night, he sought Kurt out – to have Kurt break _him_ like one of his horses.

They taught each other, learned together, and as time passed, Blaine came to Kurt almost nightly, until the marks on his back frightened his servants. They would have sent most of the household into a fury had it not been for Sebastian and his uncanny ability to stop wagging tongues.

Falling in love with Kurt … well, that was something that Blaine hadn’t expected.

Kurt slipped the gloves over his hands, and then ran his hands all over Blaine’s body, starting down at his ankles, drawing his hands up Blaine’s legs, firmly massaging the muscles of the prince’s thighs, brushing over the outline of his hard cock aching in the restrictive pants. Kurt would have taken great pleasure in grabbing the impressive length and stroking it until Blaine came, but he knew that wasn’t what the prince needed. His hands traveled up Blaine’s flanks and his chest, pinching both nipples hard and soliciting a stifled groan. Kurt hugged Blaine from behind, fitting their bodies together so that Blaine could feel every plane of his body against him.

Kurt felt Blaine lean back toward him, longing to be close to him.

“That’ll come soon enough,” Kurt said. “That’ll come as soon as you do, sweetheart.”

Kurt released him and stepped away. Blaine whimpered beneath his breath.

“Was there something you wanted to say, sweetheart?” Kurt picked up his whip, feeling the weight of it in his hand, holding it so the braid didn’t brush against the dirty floor. He came back to where the prince stood and rested his head against the man’s shoulder.

Blaine shivered, holding on by a thread, and Kurt hadn’t even started yet.

“Please …” Blaine breathed, his voice heavy with desperation. “Help me …”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Kurt whispered, letting the words fall over Blaine’s shoulders and slide down his skin.

Kurt moved away, and without any warning, snapped the whip. The first crack of Kurt’s whip didn’t connect to Blaine’s skin; it was only meant to prepare him for what was to come. The sound of it, the promise in that sound as it struck the air, filled Blaine’s body with a surge of heat. It loosened every muscle, unbottled his inhibitions - gave him permission to be a man, not a prince. Kurt ran the leather braid over Blaine’s skin with light strokes, watching goosebumps blossom on the prince’s tan back and arms. The prince’s skin, pulled tight over his muscular frame, made Kurt’s mouth water. He knew how it tasted, how it felt beneath his tongue, how it felt against his back when Blaine pounded into him from behind.

Kurt walked back a few paces and watched Blaine prepare for the first hit, his muscles tightening to absorb the blow. It made Kurt immensely hard to watch such a powerful man like Prince Blaine, shrewd and clever, feared by his enemies and loved by his kingdom, submit. He took his time, eyeing the area right beside his spine where thin, white marks had already healed over other lighter, silvery marks. He raised his arm, but before he could bring the whip down, he heard one last, soft plea from the prince’s lips.

“Kurt?”

The whip cut through the air, the end of it slicing Blaine’s back. The tethered prince threw his head back and screamed through clenched teeth.

“God!” he groaned, breathing out quickly.

“I love the way you sound the first time,” Kurt moaned. “I love hearing you scream.”

“More,” Blaine begged. “Please, or I’m going to go mad.”

“No one told you to speak,” Kurt said with delight, holding his whip at bay.

Blaine dropped his head and whined, pressing his lips into a tight line to keep from making any more remarks, one in particular on the tip of his tongue that would most likely have him untied and sent home.

Kurt watched Blaine’s breathing slow, his body relax, and when calm had overtaken him, Kurt brought the whip down again, moving closer so more of the braid bit into his back.

“Augh! Christ!” Blaine growled, his arms shaking, tugging reflexively against the straps binding his wrists and pulling them tighter.

Kurt held tight to the whip handle, feeling his heart race in his chest. Another crack of his whip cutting into Blaine’s back made the prince’s knees buckle. He grabbed at the wooden posts and held firm, righting his feet beneath him. Kurt brought the whip down again, harder than before, and the scream that escaped the prince’s throat morphed into a moan. His knees buckled again, and this time, he almost fell to the floor.

“Now, now,” Kurt tutted, swallowing down the stirrings of his own erection, begging to be free from his pants. “We wouldn’t want you breaking your pretty little wrists. Stand up like the good boy you are.”

Blaine regained his footing, his knees wobbling as he waited.

Kurt reached down a gloved hand, snaked it beneath the waist of his pants, and grabbed his cock. He held himself, squeezing below the head, suppressing the craving to stroke. Holding his hard length in his hand, he brought the whip down again, and again, harder, and then less so, letting Blaine’s mutters and groans fuel his desires. Blaine held on to the posts, fingers straining, knuckles white, while his body slumped and his knees fought to keep him upright. Four more stripes and Blaine’s back was nearly painted red, but still he begged for more.

“Do you want to cum, Blaine?” Kurt asked, his voice low, merely a rumble in the back of his throat. He approached the prince slowly, letting Blaine hear every footfall on the floor behind him. Kurt surveyed the crisscross marks on Blaine’s back, wondering how it felt, how he could get off on being whipped the way he did, but the look of them, slightly grotesque and swollen, knowing that Blaine enjoyed them, made Kurt long for release himself. “Do you want me to make you cum?”

“Y-y-yes,” Blaine mumbled, his voice struggling to be heard past the chattering of his teeth.

“Do you want to cum off the end of my whip, Blaine?”

“Y-y-yes.” Blaine’s voice was nearly inaudible this time, but Kurt didn’t need to hear him say it. The answer was the same every time.

Kurt retreated again, forgetting the pain of his erection to focus on what he knew would happen next. He brought the whip down lightly on Blaine’s shoulder, but it was enough to make him weak. One more time on the opposite shoulder almost obliterated his grasp on the wooden post.

“Oh, God,” Blaine whispered into the air. Kurt could tell from his breathy gasp that he almost had him. The whip snapped at Blaine’s lower back, in those dimples where Kurt loved to fit his hands when they got the chance to make love. Blaine’s hips lurched forward, and a quiet, “yes,” passed his lips.

One more. Kurt knew he only needed one more, and he picked his spot carefully, a spot that had taken hours of practicing on those nights when he slept alone to perfect.

A spot that had become the prince’s favorite by far.

Kurt snapped the whip out along Blaine’s waist, where the braided length wrapped around his hip and hit his throbbing cock, with enough force to sting, but not enough to do any damage.

But it was all he needed.

“Fuck!” Blaine moaned and came with a string of muttered curses, his knees giving out and his wrists pulling on the leather straps until Kurt thought they might dislocate. Kurt dropped his whip and rushed over with a tall stool for the prince to drop down onto, giving Kurt time to undo the leather straps from the posts, and then from Blaine’s wrists, taking care with the sore, broken skin.

“Kurt … I …” Blaine muttered with his eyes half-lidded, lust blown pupils searching Kurt’s body while he worked. The fingers of Blaine’s freed left hand toyed at the strings of Kurt’s pants while Kurt worked to untie the left.

“ _Blaine_ …” Kurt warned, panting as tired, shaking fingertips brushed the head of his neglected erection.

“Kurt,” Blaine mumbled, “I want to …”

“No, Your Highness,” Kurt said firmly. He wrapped his arms around Blaine’s waist and lifted him from the stool, helping Blaine limp his way onto the bed. “You can barely stand.”

“I don’t … need to stand … for what I have in mind,” Blaine stuttered. Kurt suddenly got a vivid image of his gorgeous prince on his knees, pink lips stretched around his cock, taking him down his throat to the hilt, sparkling hazel eyes staring up at him with no shame, no superiority, no lines or borders or boundaries between them. It was almost a tempting enough image to make Kurt give in, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right. It would feel like taking advantage of a tired and wounded man.

“Maybe when you can stand on your own, I’ll let you,” Kurt said, trying to think of anything he could to make his persistent hard-on die.

There was a bull calf in the north quarter that he’d need to castrate on the morrow, he reminded himself, sure that that would do the trick.

It didn’t. In a way, it only made things worse, which, in turn, made him question his moral compass.

He laid Blaine down on his stomach. He emptied and cleaned his basin, then refilled it with clean water. He dusted the cool liquid with herbs that he remembered his mother using to heal cuts and bruises when he was younger, long before he entered the king’s service. They worked well against infection and cut down the sting, but most of all, they sped the scabbing of the wounds. Any mark on the prince’s skin stabbed at Kurt, regardless of how erotic whipping him felt.

Kurt emptied and refilled the basin three times before the prince’s wounds were well cleaned. He undressed the prince, pulling off his shoes, pants, and stockings, exposing him to the cool, soothing air. Then Kurt disrobed and climbed onto the bed beside him. Blaine reached out instinctually to find Kurt, to hold his hand or touch his shoulder, anything to let him know that Kurt was there beside him. Blaine had often said that Kurt was his anchor, and that without him, he would feel adrift, floating here and there with no place to call home.

It was difficult to believe those words sometimes, considering all that would befall them in the days and weeks to come, but they were nice to hear all the same.

“You will be staying on here, will you not? After I am wed?” Blaine asked. It was a question made of more than one feeling. It was a statement, a command, a prince relaying an order that would be followed without dispute; but it was also a plea, a hope, a gentle request.

“I was not commanded otherwise,” Kurt replied, sheltering his smile. Blaine laced their fingers together. He brought Kurt’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles.

“Will you be telling Princess Berry about us then?”

Blaine’s kisses stopped, and Kurt wished he could take his question back, but he also needed to know.

“Why would she need to know?”

“Well, she is to be your wife,” Kurt said matter-of-factly. “Don’t you think she deserves to know?”

“No,” Blaine said, a catch splintering his voice. “No, she doesn’t. I will not share you and I will not lose you. Do you understand?”

“But _I’m_ sharing you,” Kurt grumbled.

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

“But …”

“No, Kurt! It’s different! You understand, don’t you?” Blaine let out a shuddering breath. “P-please say you do.”

Kurt sighed, sinking further into the thin mattress with his arm wrapped around the prince’s middle, avoiding putting too much pressure on his back.

“Yes, Your Highness.” He leaned over to kiss Blaine’s cheek. “I understand.”

Kurt drew his blanket over them. He kissed Blaine softly on the nape of his neck, feeling the body in his arms relax at the touch of his lips. Kurt let his breathing follow Blaine’s till they inhaled together and exhaled together, drifting off to sleep with a sympathetic Sebastian guarding the stable door, ready to wake his prince before dawn.


	2. Not a Prince, Just a Man

Kurt woke when his mind registered the emptiness around him. No one in his room. No one in his arms. That was usually the reason why Kurt woke when the prince left him - because the emptiness was too much to bear. Kurt felt the chill in the air climb beneath his skin, even though his blanket had been pulled up to his shoulders and tucked around him.

Kurt sucked in a cold and shuddering breath.

He hated waking up alone.

The emptiness, the silence, and the cold twisted together made it difficult for Kurt to breathe.

He heard the horses in their stalls, snuffling in their sleep or stamping down the hay on the dirt floor with their hooves as they turned in their stalls. Beyond the sounds of the horses and the normal ambient noises of the night – crickets, owls, mice, and the like - Kurt caught a strange murmuring coming from outside. It sounded like hushed voices, which wasn’t unusual, even for this Godforsaken hour of the sunless morning, but the voices sounded familiar.

They captured his attention, and he lay completely still, straining to hear them.

“What in the holy heavens above are you wearing, Sire?” an amused but tired voice chuckled.

“Shut up, Sebastian,” a different voice bit in response. Kurt’s ears pricked up immediately upon hearing it. It was a voice Kurt would recognize anywhere, and knowing its owner had tarried longer made Kurt smile. “You have seen me like this many times.”

“Yes,” the guard’s voice chortled around a lengthy yawn, “yes, I have, Your Highness, and yet it baffles me every time.”

A weary sigh accompanied by a pause in the conversation made Kurt lift his head to better hear, bracing himself for whatever might come next.

It wasn’t exactly what Kurt expected.

“Look,” Sebastian began, “you are my prince, and I have pledged my loyalty to you … but you are also my friend. My dearest, oldest friend. I know all of your secrets, and believe me …” He chuckled loudly “… there are quite a few.” The prince scoffed but Sebastian continued. “I may not understand this one, but I will defend it, from whomever I must.”

It warmed Kurt’s heart to hear such a sincere sentiment from this man – a man that Kurt knew Blaine held in the highest esteem, with the fondness of a brother. Kurt had had such a friendship once, with his stepbrother. Kurt hadn’t seen Finn since he had entered the service of the king, and he missed him every day.

“I appreciate that, my friend,” Blaine said. The sound of rustling followed, of cloth against cloth, as if the two men were hugging.

“Are we to away back to the palace, Your Highness?” Sebastian asked. “It’s a might bit early yet.” He sounded hopeful, though he would never say so to the prince’s face.

“Not just yet,” Blaine replied. Kurt noted that at least the prince sounded apologetic on the matter. “There is something I must do, and I am afraid that I will need your help to do it. But after, you have my leave to go. You must be exhausted.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Sebastian said, “my place is where you are. I will help you with your task, then I will stay until you decide to leave, and not a moment before.”

Kurt bit his lower lip hard. The poor man. Kurt and Blaine had gotten a few hours’ sleep, but Sebastian had been on his feet all night, guarding his prince, protecting their secret, making sure that they could have this time together without being disturbed. Kurt wished there was something he could do for Sebastian, but he was far from being in a position to do so.

There was no more talk that Kurt could hear from the men outside, but moments later, a loud banging against the walls of the stable jarred the horses into neighing anxiously and nearly stopped Kurt’s heart.

“A little more … _urgh_ … to the left … _mmph_ … Your Highness,” Sebastian grunted. There came a terrible crash and Sebastian groaned. “Your _other_ left, Sire.”

“Please be … _nrgh_ … more plain … _grrr_ … with your directions next time,” Blaine snapped. Kurt wanted to laugh, especially when he heard a dull thud and Blaine hiss with pain. Kurt bit down hard on his blanket to keep from snickering and pretended to sleep as the two men struggled to carry his large tub in.

“Okay … _nngh_ … set it in the middle … _grrrn_ … right there,” Blaine commanded. Both men grumbled in distress. There was a sudden cry of _no!_ and then the tub dropped, the small room echoing with the sound. Kurt finally broke and a chuckle slipped past his lips.

“I’ll go fetch the water, Your Highness,” Sebastian volunteered quickly, bowing slightly to Blaine and nodding to Kurt before he turned on his heel and left the stable.

Kurt watched Blaine grab a cloth from the wall and start wiping out the tub using water from Kurt’s basin by his bed. It confounded Kurt on many an occasion how a man like Blaine could be such a natural submissive. Even when he knew his captain of the guard would soon return with water for Kurt’s bath, knowing the man might catch him acting like a slave, cleaning out Kurt’s tub, he did it anyway, and he did it to please Kurt.

Kurt, the stable hand.

Kurt, the rustic.

Kurt, with no title or noble blood.

But Kurt was Blaine’s Dom, and the man that he loved. In light of that, cleaning out his tub seemed like such an insignificant task.

When Sebastian returned with the buckets of water, heated at the smithy’s fire close by, he did not see Blaine cleaning Kurt’s tub, but setting his table, getting Kurt’s breakfast ready for him. Sebastian poured the water into the tub with a careful eye on the two, watching how his prince waited on the stable hand like a common servant. When the tub was filled, he went to Blaine and handed him something hidden in his jacket, something wrapped in a rough cloth. He whispered low in the prince’s ear so that not a word did Kurt hear. Blaine took the offering with a frown and set it on the table, keeping it wrapped and pushing it aside with disdain. Blaine eyed Kurt rising from the bed with an eyebrow cocked, but he mentioned nothing about it.

“If it pleases Your Highness, I will return to my post until you have need of me,” Sebastian announced, watching the silent exchange between Dom and sub. It broke his heart seeing them together, knowing what he did of their combined fates. But their love also brought to mind all the things he had given up in his own life in pursuit of his career, to get to this position of authority.

He became uncomfortable in their presence, in this intimate atmosphere they created within the four walls of this meager room. He was eager to return outside and be away from it.

“It does,” Blaine said, suspecting his friend’s discomfort. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Sebastian bowed to his prince, then turned his attention to Kurt.

“Master Hummel,” he said with not a bow, but a slight incline of his head in Kurt’s direction. Kurt returned the gesture, then watched with interest as the guard left his presence. When Sebastian was clear of the stable, Blaine took a place at Kurt’s feet.

“Do you tell him to address me that way?” Kurt asked.

“I do not,” Blaine admitted.

“Then why does he?” Kurt put his feet on the cold floor, throwing the blanket off his naked body.

“I think it is because he knows how important you are to me. I treat you like Master here, so he does the same.”

“I appreciate it,” Kurt said, standing completely on his feet, “though I will not expect such treatment outside these walls.”

“It is best that you do not, but you will always have his protection” - Blaine took Kurt’s hand when Kurt offered it and stood to help Kurt into his tub of water - “as long as I …”

Kurt settled into the tub, sighing with eyes closed as he slipped down further into the water. Hot water was such a luxury, such a gift Kurt rarely had the time or the connections to acquire, so he vowed to take his time savoring it.

“As long as you _what_ , Your Highness?” Kurt reached out a hand for Blaine to put a bar of soap and a cloth into. Instead, Blaine moved Kurt’s hand aside, dunking the cloth into the water and lathering it up with the soap.

“As long as I love you,” Blaine said quietly, rubbing the cloth in circles over Kurt’s chest, focusing on the content hum coming from his Master.

“And how long do you think that will be, Your Highness?”

“Quite a while.” Blaine’s hand stopped its work as the weight of the question – and its answer – hit him. “The rest of my life. Even if you leave me. Even if we are never to be together again …”

“Shhh, my poor darling …” Kurt took Blaine’s hand in his and held it. “This is very unlike you, Your Highness.” Kurt opened his eyes to see Blaine staring past him, at their hands linked together under the water.

“I apologize,” Blaine said, moving his hand out of Kurt’s grasp and continuing down his body, bringing the wash cloth to scrub over his abs, stopping just shy of his cock. “Is this better?”

“You are getting closer,” Kurt teased as his cock bobbed beneath the water with the promise of Blaine’s hand so near.

“You know, I never did get the chance to pay you back for last night.” Blaine bent down close to Kurt’s ear, his voice an alluring slide, as tangible on Kurt’s skin as his hand beneath the water.

“Mmm, tis true. And seeing as you seem to be able to stand, I guess that means you can kneel.”

“I would wager you are correct on that account.” Blaine moved the cloth further down Kurt’s body, purposefully avoiding his cock and heading toward his legs.

“So why don’t you finish me up and you can show me how well you kneel, hmm?” Kurt watched as the prince scrubbed his thighs, his calves, his ankles, down to the soles of his feet.

“As you wish.” Blaine’s hazel eyes glittered in the dim lantern light, not daring to match Kurt’s gaze. He traveled back up Kurt’s body with the soap and cloth, washing every inch of his Dom’s skin that he could reach, and Kurt sat up and leaned forward to aid him. Blaine rolled up the sleeves of Kurt’s shirt that he wore so as not to soak them and meticulously washed Kurt’s back and shoulders. When he was done, he rounded the tub and stood in his Dom’s view.

“May I wash your …?” Blaine’s eyes drifted away along with his words, gazing towards the water that obscured Kurt’s body and hid the prize Blaine longed to touch.

“So uncharacteristically shy today, Your Highness,” Kurt said, eyes smiling. “Well, seeing as you are going to have your mouth on it, I imagine that you would _want_ to clean my cock.” Kurt’s words were bold, trying to lure his conceited sub out from hiding. Kurt itched to feel Blaine’s lips on his skin. He had endured an evening of feverish dreams about them together, praying for that moment to come, praying that they woke in time to have it.

Kurt’s eyes stayed on his prince as Blaine lathered up the washing cloth again and then reached underneath the water, taking hold of Kurt’s cock and stroking gently. Kurt bent his knees and opened his legs wide, sliding further down until his chin broke the surface of the water.

“Dear _God_ ,” Kurt moaned, hips bucking to meet Blaine’s fist on every downward stroke, “I could just let you do this. You’re so good at it.” The water lapped at the rim of the tub, threatening to spill over, with Kurt continuing to fuck up into Blaine’s fist. “You have perfect hands for this. Wonderful, strong hands.” Kurt watched Blaine’s eyes, glowing beneath his praise, but with his focus entirely on the task of giving his Dom pleasure. He would do this all day if Kurt asked him – if Blaine was able to escape his duties for one day. Blaine had always wanted to try, but he feared they’d be discovered. Visiting Kurt during the late night hours was one thing. Disappearing for a whole day was quite another.

Blaine stayed close to his Dom while he performed this act, hovering above Kurt’s chest so Kurt only needed to whisper his commands, but he was still too far for Kurt’s liking.

“Kiss me.” Kurt licked his lips when he saw Blaine’s eyes flick to his mouth without a second’s hesitation. Blaine leaned over Kurt and kissed him, sliding their mouths together without slowing the stroking of his hand. Kurt moaned deep in his throat until Blaine felt it in his mouth, tickling his tongue.

“Mmm, I need that mouth on me,” Kurt mumbled over Blaine’s lips. “This instant.”

Blaine didn’t want to stop touching his Master, especially when Kurt’s wet body shivered beneath his fist. But having his mouth on Kurt’s cock was one of his greatest joys - kneeling at Kurt’s feet, Kurt fucking his face, being used for his Master’s pleasure. It was the thing Blaine craved.

Kurt pushed Blaine aside and rose from the tub, putting a hand on the prince’s shoulder to keep himself steady. He stepped out and stood on the ground, skin dripping wet, glistening in the scarce light. Blaine openly stared. He couldn’t hide his regard. Even if someone had threatened to put out his eyes, he would still stare because Kurt’s naked body was positively hypnotizing - an incredible specimen of man. Kurt wasn’t just a singularly gorgeous human, but a strong, enticing creature, far beyond what the human mind could conceive.

And as far as Blaine knew, he was the only one who got the privilege of seeing Kurt like this.

If Blaine discovered that someone else had, it would destroy him.

Kurt caught Blaine staring and smirked at his open-mouthed awe, honored by how his prince devoured every inch of his body with eyes that didn’t attempt to hide their admiration of him. But this wasn’t the time for looking. The sun would rise before long and they would be parted, but this time not only for a day or a week.

Possibly for the rest of their lives.

Kurt grabbed Blaine by the hair and dragged him over to his bed. He didn’t bother with drying, simply dropping down to the edge of his mattress, bringing the prince to his knees. Blaine didn’t need to be told what to do. In this, he required no instruction. He knelt between Kurt’s legs and took his Dom’s cock into his mouth, swallowing him quickly and sucking back up hard. Kurt tasted clean like soap and salty with the flavor of his own cum leaking from the head in anticipation of Blaine’s heat and his tongue. Kurt didn’t let go of Blaine’s hair, tightening his hold when the prince didn’t move fast enough or holding hard to slow him down.

“Yes,” Kurt moaned, eventually bracing back on one elbow and moving along with Blaine as he had before, meeting Blaine’s mouth with every suck, shallowly at some points, at others pounding nearly all the way down the prince’s throat. Blaine took it – gagging around Kurt’s length, his eyes burning, watering, his lips stretched till he thought Kurt might unhinge his jaw. But being filled like this was Blaine’s paradise. This was where the submissive in him came to task. There was only one other way Blaine enjoyed being filled, and he hoped for that in the near future.

He would hope beyond hope, for as long as it took.

“Jesus …” Kurt groaned, lying back on the bed for Blaine to finish him off properly. “That’s it … faster … God, please …” Kurt urged his sub on, though by this time Blaine was doing little more than kneeling obediently while Kurt, hand locked in Blaine’s hair, fucked the prince for himself. “God, yes,” he chanted, plunging deep into the wet cavern of Blaine’s mouth. “Yes, yes, yes …” There was a long moment of silence when Kurt lost his voice completely and his body began to shudder. Blaine knew Kurt was close. He responded as he had been taught, grabbing hold of Kurt’s hips and gripping tight, taking Kurt as far down his throat as he was able and swallowing all he had to give. “Fuck …” Kurt whined, releasing his fist in Blaine’s hair as he fell back on the bed and let Blaine do his job, sucking Kurt through his orgasm.

Blaine swayed as he fought for breath, pulling off Kurt’s softening cock and kneeling low on the floor to recover. His cheeks were flushed, hot to the touch, his entire body shaking as if the orgasm that had racked Kurt’s body had been his own. He licked his lips to capture what was left of his Dom, and the taste of him almost made Blaine cry. This couldn’t be the end of it. He needed Kurt – he needed his dominance, needed his love, more than he needed to breathe.

It was in moments like this, lingering in the bliss of pleasing his Dom that Blaine could see himself being immensely happy here - not a prince, just a man, serving the man he adored.

“Was that … enough?” Blaine asked.

“More than enough, pet,” Kurt managed between heaving breaths. “The best yet, I think.”

Blaine nodded to himself. _It would have to be_ , he thought. _It would need to last_.

“Shall I help you to dress?” Blaine asked. “Then I can get your breakfast?”

“No,” Kurt said. “We have not the time, and I would like to break bread with you. I will dress myself.” Kurt sat up and looked upon Blaine, still clothed in his own loose work shirt. “And you may want to do the same, Your Highness.” Kurt smiled, chuckling kindly, but it only seemed to sour Blaine, who felt the time they had together ticking away as if it were being chipped from his own bones.

But Blaine stood and did as he was told, dressing in all but his coat, relinquishing the shirt to Kurt who put it on – not because it was his cleanest, but because now it smelled like his prince, and he would need that to fortify him throughout the day.

Kurt approached the table, smiling in approval as a compliment to his sub’s work, and Blaine greeted him with the reviled cloth-wrapped bundle.

“Sebastian told me a young man brought this by this morning.” The prince opened the edges of the cloth to reveal a loaf of salt bread, scowling at it with a disgust that went far beyond loathing, but which also touched on something close to jealousy. “Apparently, he was put out that he couldn’t gift it to you directly.”

“Yes, well, that would be Sam,” Kurt said, sounding just interested enough to keep the heat burning in Blaine’s eyes. “He’s the smithy’s son. We have breakfast together every midweek.”

“ _Only_ on the midweek?” Blaine asked, fiddling unnecessarily with the plates and the cutlery.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Kurt replied, with a warm, albeit condescending, smile. “Only on the midweek, before he heads off into town. He’s polite and he’s young. Neither traits are especially to my taste.”

Blaine nodded. He waited by his appointed chair, and sat only after Kurt sat. He watched Kurt take the bread and divide it, waving away the portion Kurt offered him. Kurt set the bread down on Blaine’s plate and took the prince’s hand.

“You know, you can dine with him whenever you’d like,” Blaine granted stiffly, slipping his hand from beneath Kurt’s as he reached for the butter and knife to dress Kurt’s slice of bread.

Kurt grabbed Blaine’s hand back. He drew it to his face and kissed his knuckles.

“I would rather dine with _you_ ,” Kurt said against Blaine’s skin. “I would rather eat with you and talk with you and lay with you over anyone. If I had my choice, that’s exactly what I would do for the remainder of my days, and if I cannot, I will stay here _alone_ and imagine it so … _Blaine_ …”

Kurt said the prince’s name in a tender whisper across Blaine’s flesh as he pressed gentle kisses upon his hand. The delicate touch reminded Blaine of the many times they had made love in this room. Kurt would light the small fireplace beforehand and the heat bathed their bodies, the firelight casting a golden glow over Kurt’s skin. They’d make love on the hard floor, laying several blankets down to cushion it. It wasn’t the most comfortable (they dared not use the bed as it was louder than anything, and they had already broken it once) but all that mattered was that they were together, wrapped in one another’s embrace, the slow push and pull of their bodies worshipping one another as if they had all the time in the world.

Blaine wondered if he should have chosen that over dominance last night, but he needed Kurt’s punishing to keep him sane.

Their morning meal together was quiet with hands held, a piece of dried meat shared, and the bread reluctantly eaten by both, but accursedly short, when a rustling in the doorway caught their attention.

“Your Highness?” Sebastian’s voice called from the entrance. “I apologize for the intrusion, but we need to get you back to the palace.”

“So soon?” Blaine muttered.

“I waited as long as I could, Sire. We shouldn’t risk a moment longer.”

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand and sighed.

“You are right,” Blaine conceded, “as usual.”

That admission would normally earn Blaine a witty remark from his best friend and captain … but not this time. Not with the prince as somber as the grave.

Not when Sebastian could see Blaine’s heart dying.

Kurt stood from his place at the table and, with hands clasped, pulled Blaine to his feet. He retrieved Blaine’s coat from the hook and helped the prince on with it, forgoing the awful corset in consideration of the painful stripes that littered Blaine’s back. He tugged at the hem to straighten the wrinkles, then moved to the front to do up the fasteners.

“Here.” Blaine removed one of the medals from his lapel and pressed it into Kurt’s palm. “Keep this, will you? It’s my family crest. Wear it where you can feel it against your skin … and think of me?”

Kurt looked at the medal in his hand, glittering gold, such a stranger in his grasp. It was smaller than many of Blaine’s other medals, but it carried all that Kurt held dear – including a surname he would never bear.

“Always, Your Highness.” Kurt bent to lay a kiss to it, then folded his fingers over it. “Though, I do not need this to think of you.” Kurt chuckled hollowly. “I dare say I think of you every minute of every day.”

“But this means that you belong with me.” Blaine sounded young, sounded lost, sounded tired of his life. “And I belong to you, no matter what.”

Kurt nodded. “No matter what,” he repeated. “I will treasure it always, Your High---“

Blaine’s lips met his and stole the word before it could be completed. He needed to take it. The consequence of their lives was a burden Blaine could no longer bear. He didn’t come down to Kurt’s stables to be reminded that he was a prince. He came to remember that he was a man, a man in love, with too much duty and responsibility to properly acknowledge its existence.

“Your Highness?” Sebastian called again from the doorway. “We need to …”

“I’m coming,” Blaine interrupted, trying to regain his strength of command but finding his voice thin and cracked, like glass that had cooled without being fired long enough – brittle, with all the heat of something stronger, but failing, lacking substance.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Blaine whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Kurt replied.

Blaine looked to where their hands had joined together, and then back up with purpose to his Dom’s eyes.

“Come to the wedding?” Blaine asked. It was a request Kurt had never expected. He almost took a step back to get away from it.

“I … I cannot,” Kurt said, shaking his head. “Don’t ask me to do that. I beg you. _Please_.”

“Please, Kurt?” Blaine pressed as Kurt continued to shake the request away. “You are my strength. You are the only strength I have left.”

“That is not true.”

“It is truer than I would like it to be. Please,” Blaine pleaded. “I need you there. I … I cannot do this alone.”

Kurt didn’t look away from the prince’s eyes even though all he wanted to do was run and hide from them. He saw in Blaine’s face the boy he once was – the one who first came to Kurt, asking for his help. Blaine had been Kurt’s submissive before they had ever fallen in love. Kurt could not abandon his submissive any more than he could abandon his own heart, which Blaine held complete and utter ownership of.

“If you need me,” Kurt said with trembling lips and the start of tears in his eyes, “then I shall be there.”

Blaine nodded gratefully, wrapping his fingers over the hand that held the medal. He kissed the fingers of that hand, then the inside of Kurt’s wrist, then his cheek, then his lips, leaving behind a brand that burned Kurt like fire. Filled with an agony like daggers piercing his chest, one that overshadowed the wounds on his back by leaps and bounds, he backed away, departing Kurt’s stables the way he came, dressed like a prince, leaving his love behind and preparing to marry his princess.

 


End file.
